Logs:Well Behaved
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| RL Date: 3 July, 2015 |
| Who: Farideh, X'vin |
| Involves: Igen Area |
| Type: Log |
| What: Once upon a time, before Roszadyth, a girl named Farideh met a horribad bronzerider named X'vin. |
| Where: Igen Hold |
| When: Day 20, Month 8, Turn 34 (Interval 10) |
| Weather: Hot. Arid. |
| Mentions: Wulfan/Mentions, Joremy/Mentions, Pavrol/Mentions, Korek/Mentions, Anatolia/Mentions |
| OOC Notes: The way back machine. |
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| Igen Hold's hall is a display of golden splendor and gaudy decor: waterfalls of fabric drape from the ceilings and doorframes, kitchen staff in gold livery circulate the room bearing ornate trays filled with mouthwatering foods, and noteworthy harpers perform on a raised dais, strumming and singing vibrant songs. It is a who's who of Igen's creme de la creme; the room peppered with Bloods and wealthy holders in all manner of colorful dress. They socialize with the ease afforded their kind, laughing and drinking from crystal flutes or silver-stemmed wine glasses. Even the youth are represented tonight, mingling amongst the older set, in the form of masks and costume, giving new life to the theme of masquerade. True to form, Big Bay's holder and his family are present, and Pavrol, along with his brother and sister-in-law have been locked in serious conversation with their river-lying compatriots all night; it's an opportunity Farideh hasn't taken for granted, as she's made a night of dancing, champagne-tasting, and laughing, with other girls her age, all night long. But at some point, she's had to sit down and rest her feet, and does so by perching on the edge of a chair near the doors leading out of the hall and into the sweltering heat outside. Dressed in a pretty little number, in pale seafoam with gold embroidery, with ties between the shoulders and short, capped sleeves, she's ever the picture of cultivated innocence, wearing a beguiling smile to match rosy cheeks. Someone's always late to the party; or maybe the oppressive heat outside is worth braving for a little solitude as the party reaches its peak. It's probably the latter, if an empty glass is any indication, but the result is the same: the man who opens the door and slips into the party does it from outside, the heat on his back. He's dressed extremely well, if clearly not in Igen garb -- his finery is not so embroidered, not so light of fabric, not so bright in color, but he's at least managed to find a mask that covers the top half of his face: gold and black and Igen red, segmented several times but leaving only his eyes uncovered. He's laughing at a joke he carries in with him - there are others who've taken a moment outside as well, and he cuts off both heat and laughter when he gets the door closed. He takes a deep breath as he progresses inward, but Farideh sweeps in front of him before he makes it far enough to claim the chair he'd been honestly beelining for. She takes it. He's too polite to oust her though. X'vin instead continues, to settle in the chair beside her, wondering, "Are you already done with dancing?" Genuine astonishment registers in the hazel eyes behind the blue, green, and gold patterned mask Farideh wears; it's unlikely that she noticed him when she swept past and took her rest on the chair he was seeking to claim. Now, she's left with the awkward task of having idle prattle with a complete stranger so near at hand. "Done? When is one ever truly done with dancing? I simply wanted to rest my feet before they fall off-- and you---?" She sweeps his whole personage with an assessing glance, which ends, inevitably, back on the black-gold-and-red mask. "I don't think I should even be talking you. We haven't been properly introduced," she hedges, not completely abashed as much as testing; a rebel child without a cause. "When they're sleeping," he responds lightly, sounding a lot like she's said exactly the answer he'd anticipated. "Yes?" is curious, looking for confirmation that he is right; surly she doesn't dance in her sleep. And him? He holds his empty glass up, demonstrably, saying, "Chatting only gets me so far without more drink." Isn't she lucky, then, that he's stopped to chat with her while his tank is empty? "It's a party!" he laughs at her demurral, his eyes and smile both lighting his face up, in spite of the mask. "I thought the point was to get to know strangers. And I'm not a stranger if I tell you my name. X'vin," the honorific dropped almost carelessly. "And you...?" "How do you know? I could be a fabulous sleep-dancer," Farideh returns, with an impish twist to her mouth. "It's all in the--" Her eyes lift to his empty glass, as if marveling at its barrenness, but quickly finds the man wearing the mask again. "Most of the people here are hardly strangers. They're your cousins or your uncle's friends or your old aunt's old friend's ex-boyfriend's son. Everyone knows practically everyone else, or has heard of them at least, but, you're not anyone that I know. You're--" She sucks in a breath between puckered lips and stares a little too hard, a little too wide-eyed. "X'vin," she repeats, hesitantly. "I'm Farideh, of Big Bay. Are you friends with Lord Wulfan or Joremy?" X'vin's low whistle is duly impressed at the revelation of her night endeavors. "Are you? Here I already thought you were striking, and you have to tell me you can dance in your sleep." He catches a kitchen woman with a gentle grip on her wrist and a disarming smile, all the better to switch his glass for two full ones, one of which gets passed to Farideh, duly. He takes a sip and holds it in his mouth, considering her and filling in, "A dragonrider, yes," and he tilts his head, innocent; without a knot, you just can't tell. He could be lying. Her name is met with a toast, her question with a birdlike tilt of the head. "After a sense. I've met Jeromy once. Maybe twice? Not Wulfan, that I remember. I'm not from here," as if his bearing, his accent weren't obvious on that. "Astivan's my cousin," he supplies, then leans forward and lowers his voice as if he's going to tell her a secret, "But everyone knows Igen's gatherings are the best, and having a dragon to get here makes it so much easier." A group of mask-wearing children run past, giggling and screaming, and it is in this short lull of conversation that Farideh again considers the man sitting next to her. Her face, fortunately covered by the gilded mask, doesn't reveal any of her secrets, except in the slight sideways cant of her head and slow tugging of lips upwards. "A rider? Here, at a party of Bloods--" Her next words are snatched right off her tongue, as he fills in the blank for her; her lips continue their slow curl up. "Lord Astivan? How? Your father? Your mother? It seems-- he's, well." Too polite to say it, too tactless not to bring it up. "You don't ride for Igen Weyr, then?" she asks, before taking a delicate sip from her acquired glass. "Besmernyth officially got me disinherited," X'vin says with a wistful edge, putting his chin in his hands like it is something he considers often, without much fondness. His lips purse down into a small, very brief frown that can't hold it's ground behind those grins of his, especially as his eyes follow those children until they're well out of sight. He brings his eyes back to her. "But it doesn't change who you are. Where you came from. Just what you're allowed to do. You trade one perk for another." One shoulder hitches in a shrug, and he twirls his glass between two fingers. "My father. My mother is from Boll. Not," he adds, "related to anyone particularly special." Bless her heart, he might say, but he's clearly fond of her. As for Astivan? X'vin waves a hand, opting for discussion about other things - himself - instead. "Benden. Strange turn of events, takes you across the continent and still gets you into Igen parties. Would you have me go, if I wasn't Blood?"" "Perk? Are you implying being a rider, having a dragon, is anything close to-- to all of this?" Holdbred sentimentalities are hard to shake, and it's clear from the lift of brows and disbelief written on her round face that Farideh finds those comments irksome indeed. She touches one hand to the artful braids woven with gold ribbon at the crown of her head in an absentminded gesture; choosing that moment to glance away, towards the relative safety of the groups of people she knows. "Benden?" she asks quietly, her eyes stealing back to the bronzerider, once more alight with interest. "Go? I wouldn't. That would be impolite and besides--" Her breath is released, her cheeks coloring somewhat. "I already know everyone else. You even said, parties are for getting to know strangers." X'vin gives the gathering at large a really good look. He turns slightly in his chair, draping one arm over the back, all the better to take it in fully. Everyone is milling, laughing; the children before have made another lap and dart through a group, so one can hide behind her mother's skirts. It softens his smile, so the forthcoming defense of his lifestyle is compromised. "Of course I miss it, sometimes. But there are things, yes, that are better. Or at least comparable." There's challenge there, lurking under his tone, and his eyebrow echoes it. "I do wish I'd chosen to change my life with a Fortian dragon, but they say the dragons know. Where you should be, whether your dragon may be there, if you've got one. Besmernyth was at Benden; if I hadn't been there, there's no telling what..." There's a brisk shake of the head for the though, and a sly smile for her. "Here I am, telling you all about me, and you've hardly told me anything about you. Big Bay, yes? Tell me, Farideh, what makes you love your life?" Farideh listens attentively, a barrage of emotions shifting behind the mask, but none coming to light as she shifts in her seat; it's not an obvious positioning, however slightly more angled towards the dragonrider she may now be. "I don't mind." She flicks a worried glance over towards a particular group, and then allows, with a tremulous smile, "What should I tell you? That I love dancing, and parties, and sweet candies, and handsome men, and jewelry, and dresses and-- all of the things I'm supposed to, right? I love my family. I love-- my history, my tradition. I love Igen. I love the bay shores and the sunshine filled days. I love-- this life." Open, inquisitive eyes study X'vin. "What else do you want to know?" He's an attentive man, watching her as she listens, checking the shifts in her face and body with almost automatic regard. He even follows her glance, subtly, trying to mark whatever person or people she seems to be worried about, but these are all brief things. She, as his tablemate, has his regard wholly. "You could tell me that," and did, "if that's true." Which suggests it isn't, or at least that X'vin doesn't believe it can be. "Do you truly? Does it fill you? Do you ever feel awfully lonely in it?" He drains his glass, puts it down, and doesn't scope for another passing tray. "You can tell me. I'm not technically Blood, anymore. And I won't tell," he promises. "I love Igen," is adamant, "but sometimes I wish--" Farideh ostensibly realizes telling all of her secrets and desires to a stranger is not the smartest move to make, especially in the company of her family and friends; still, something about X'vin prompts her to square her shoulders and try again. "I don't want to just be some holder's wife. Not even some Lord Holder, even if some girls would die for that. I just want to be-- me. Is that why you chose to Impress a dragon instead of sticking to your morals?" Dragons equal debauchery, duh. That X'vin's expression becomes not just attentive but suddenly keen betrays how interesting he finds her admissions, as few and careful as they are, and as poorly as they serve to answer the questions he's posed. Her inquiry makes him laugh, leaning back in his chair and shaking his head. "I didn't sacrifice my morals in the least. My father was -- not happy. Not at first. But I wasn't happy being his Steward, either. I still love Fort, and Black Cliff, and my family," he concedes, "but I love my life now in a different way. I wonder what you'd rather do, given the choice of anything on Pern?" "Don't you have to? You'd have to give up everything and grow accustom to Weyrlife, and they say--" Both cheeks flush prettily, though Farideh smiles through her evident discomfort with what does, or doesn't, happen within a Weyr. "How has your father come to terms, or has he?" She does give his last question consideration, her mouth compressing as she takes time to contemplate what she's actually going to let him know. "Become a trader and travel all of Pern? Except, I don't know that I would be very good with all the dust, and walking, and-- become a Harper? Travel Pern in style? I can't hold a tune and I'm not good at instruments either," she concludes, bemusedly. "You have to," agrees X'vin. "But it's not all that. Only normal things, with higher frequency. Most of it is fun, even." Up go his brows, just suggestive enough. "Besmernyth hatched bronze," is what X'vin supplies as explanation, though certainly there's more to it than that. "My father still...oscillates on his feelings. It feels less important at a distance. He's usually more upset when business at Fort is less than ideal." His smile grows increasingly broad with each suggestion of lifestyle, "Are you dextrous? You could sew in the Weavercraft," he suggests looking at her hands, "or join the Healers, that's noble. You could run away to Igen Weyr, even. There are always jobs." "Oh." It's with a certain awe and shock that she utters that single word. "I hear stories about bronze riders sometimes," is a half-whisper, with wary peeking at those nearby. Farideh obviously has heard scandalous tales, and she doesn't seem too keen to repeat them, even as she's staring unfathomingly at the older man. "No? No. I can't. I fear I'm only suited for this type of life, this type of role. In five turns you might be Weyrleader of Igen and I, will probably be married to some fat, balding man with bad breath and a penchant for tiny buildings that he keeps in glass boxes." X'vin laughs again, heartily, eyes lit with his amusement. "You sound like you have someone in mind. Who keeps tiny buildings in glass boxes?" He looks openly intrigued by what tales she may have heard, his eyes dancing with amusement. He leans close, lowering his voice to nearly a whisper. "Some of those stories are even true." But then he leans back, returning to conversational tones, "Maybe most. The ones about stealing hold girls' hearts and whisking them away are definitely true." "I can't tell you that," Farideh says, through a conspiratorial smile. "It's bad enough that I know, but you would be surprised by the things the staff says, when--" She presses fingertips against her lips to quell both laughter and the flow of words; his lean garners a fuller blush, and a hitching of breath before she exhales it stiltedly. "Are they? Where do you whisk them? Back to your Weyr?" she asks, inquisitively, averting her eyes. X'vin shakes his head. "Not as surprised as you'd think," he murmurs, but of course doesn't press the issue. There are some matters of propriety he will maintain. The minor ones. "Sometimes," he agrees, his smile sharklike. "Would you like to go to my Weyr?" He runs his tongue over his top row of teeth, outwardly considering. "Mmm. No. Benden is a far sight from here, and someone would think you kidnapped by bandits for ransom, I'd imagine." His brow furrows, his mouth twisting off a little into a perplexed not-quite frown. "I hope you weren't hoping to be whisked. I hate to disappoint." Whoever it is that boasts that glass-box collection is forgotten, for now, with a much more tension-inducing topic. "Your Weyr?" And still, Farideh's face grows darker with color, her eyes not yet meeting his. "No. No. Benden doesn't quite have the political motivation either, and bandits--" Her eyes flick to his face and hold. "Do I want you to whisk me away? No, of course not. I'm a lady and my morals aren't as easily bent. I have to uphold my family's honor, and the tradition of binding young women to boring, old rich men, and that would mean I'd want something other than what I was born to be. That would mean--" There's some type of gravity in her stare, a further meaning to the soft breaths between parted lips; what is she saying? X'vin's regard is quiet for that, only a slight nod for her remarks about politics. There's more there, for an eye and mind keener than Farideh's is. He lets a silence hang between them, maintaining eye contact, like he is trying to read the unspoken thoughts driving her words. "That you want something different than the life you've been given?" he queries gently. He's quick to add, "As great as it all is. It's not an inherently bad thing, you know. To want different, to seek better. Happiness is as arbitrary as beauty." He's bold, then, reaching one hand out to touch at the hair near her temple, framing her face with his hand though his palm doesn't touch her fully. "I'd be the last person to fault you for wanting it." "It's not done. Not by well-behaved holder girls. Not by anyone who has any regard for their family and doesn't want to be a complete outcast. I can't understand how you shouldered their disappointment in you," Farideh responds, quietly, but stiffens when he reaches a hand to touch her hair, her face. She stands abruptly, brushing down her skirts with both hands, more to keep them moving than in any legitimate need to. "I think I need some air," she says, adroitly, and then, stands there, obviously waiting for something. When she shifts, puts distance between them, X'vin does not pursue her. His hand withdraws slowly, and he doesn't seem terribly surprised to have tested her limits a step too far, nor does he have the good grace to look at least a little chagrined. Rather, he looks disappointed, like he'd expected something different from her. "I'm clearly not as well-behaved as you," he says, dismissive. "You'll make someone a lovely wife one day. You should be proud." It doesn't sound like he's complimenting her, even if face says he is. "Are you going to faint?" might be teasing, playful even, "I wouldn't recommend going out there, if you are. It's so hot. Would you like me to go get you some water?" See? Perfect gentleman. Compliment or insult, it doesn't matter, her response is the same: to go completely still. "No. I'm not going to faint and I don't want water. I need air," Farideh manages, despite her obvious pique at the bronzerider. "You get used to the heat," she says, flicking her skirts before moving past, heading for the door, with the purpose of exiting the party, stage right. "I bet you do," X'vin laughs, standing and stretching languidly after their time idle. "You'll have to show me." He takes stock of the revelers as he does, then settles his posture down again to fall into step after her, chasing those flicked skirts as might be expected. For air. |
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